


holes in the plotline (holes in your clothes)

by MyMindIsDarkButItCanBeBrightForYou



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: 100th work babey!!!!!, Alternate Universe, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Explicit Torture, Torture, Whump, but its not bad enough for graphic violence warning, like theres some, not a spy!Curt, owen is still a spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMindIsDarkButItCanBeBrightForYou/pseuds/MyMindIsDarkButItCanBeBrightForYou
Summary: Curt is a writer with a normal husband, or so he thought. Turns out, Owen is a spy, and some arms dealer is very interested in information Owen has. Owen, may have been trained to handle torture, but Curt hasn't...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the google doc title is "oof but in an american accent

Curt Mega lived a rather normal life. He wasn’t involved in any sort of shady business deals or underground rebellions of any sort. So of course, when he awoke to find himself tied to a chair in a basement he did not recognized, he was quite confused. He tugged at his bindings, but they didn’t give at all. As the reality of his situation began to set in, so did the panic. Luckily, or unluckily, the door in front of him opened just as this began.

“I’m so sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances, Mr. Mega.” The man began. Curt stiffened at the mention of his name. How did this man know his name if they had never met? More importantly, who was the man?

The man chuckled, most likely at Curt’s expression. “Well, not really,” he continued. “I did have other options, but this one just seemed so… appealing.” The pause sent a shudder down Curt’s spine.

“W-who are you?” He said, his voice finally coming back to him. The man laughed cruelly.

“That’s of no consequence,” he answered, waving his hand. “Besides, if all goes well, you will be gone soon enough.” An oily smile spreading across his face, the man strolled behind Curt, who tried to turn his head but was stopped by his bindings. The sound of metal against metal rang out from where he stood.

“At any rate,” the man sighed. “I ought to prep for the main event.” Curt’s question on what exactly the main event was became stuck in his throat when the man returned to in front of him.

“Please,” The man said, stroking his crowbar. “Don’t be afraid to scream.”

  
  


Owen was sat at his desk doing paperwork (Cynthia was a bitch) when he had gotten the email. There was no subject, and the sender was encrypted, making it impossible to tell who had sent it. The only content of the email was a link to a website. Normally, Owen wouldn’t bother with this kind of stuff, but he was bored, and contending with a (likely mediocre) hacker seemed entertainment enough. So he clicked on the link. When the website loaded, his face paled at the sight.

On first glance, the website appeared to be a personal streaming site, only accessible by certain people and not open to the public. The link led to a live stream, which of itself wasn’t odd. The content of the stream, however, was in a class all its own. The stream showed Curt, sweet, innocent Curt who should have been at home writing his next book, tied to a wooden chair in a generic dirty basement. Owen’s hands shook with a need to do something as he catalogued Curt’s injuries: a black eye, bruising along his arms, a spot of blood that stood in stark contrast to his white shirt. His legs seemed fine, but the jeans made spotting blood harder. Curt was sleeping or knocked out, the latter more likely.

A flashing message along the bottom of the video caught Owen’s eye. “Put on headphones for the full experience!! :)”. As Owen hesitated, knowing that he should call Tatiana, the message changed. “Put on headphones, unless you want him hurt”. He quickly plugged in his headphones, telling himself he could call her once he was sure of what was happening. A pop-up appeared, asking him to allow the site access to his camera and microphone. He clicked “allow”. He knew this was dumb, all of his spy training said to call someone, but with Curt in danger, he couldn’t think straight. His train of thought was cut off when a man that he recognized strode into view of the camera.

“Stave,” he growled. Ilya Stave, an arms dealer, had been on the MI6’s radar for roughly nine months after allegedly selling arms to a small terrorist faction in Brazil. On his last mission, Owen was assigned to retrieve client lists from the man. In his briefing he’d had to learn about the capabilities of Stave, many of which were things he never wanted to recall. Most of the bodies which were recovered were unidentifiable, and those were only the ones they had found. And now this man had his husband.

“Nice to see you again, Agent Carvour.” Stave smirked, looking directly into the camera, which was at eye level for him. “I believe I have something of yours.”

“Let him go.” Owen was gripping the armrests of his chair so hard by this point that his knuckles were turning white. “He has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Oh, but he does,” Stave said, walking off screen. He returned with a bucket of ice water. “You see, you’ve been trained to handle torture, but he hasn’t.” Stane lifted the bucket and overturned it onto Curt’s head, making the writer cough and splutter as he woke up. “So you’ll tell us what we want, or he’ll pay the price.”

“You bastards, I swear to—” Stave cut Owen off.

“Let’s keep it down. We don’t want your co-workers to hear. That would be ever so…” The arms dealer picked up a knife and casually began to twirl it. “...unfortunate.” Curt finally looked up with clear eyes, staring right at the camera.

“Owen?” he said, his voice rough. Owen tightened his grip on his chair as he realized that he must have hurt his voice from screaming. “Owen, what’s going on?”

Owen leaned forward subconsciously. “Everything’s gonna be okay, love, don’t you worry. We’re going to get you out of there—”

Stave cut Owen off again. “I think that’s rather enough talk for now, don’t you?” He began to stroll to behind Curt, fingering the knife, and Curt visibly tensed. “To be frank, I would have loved to have gagged your little boy toy here, but it will be  _ so _ much more convincing for you when you get to hear his screams.” Curt tensed further. He must have realized that more torture was coming.

“Please no, please, why are you doing this, why—” A knife to the shoulder silenced his pleas, replacing them with a bone chilling scream. Owen lurched forward in his chair.

“You don’t get to ask questions, pet, that’s not your purpose here. Now, why don’t you be quiet while the grown-ups talk business.” Stave ended the condescending statement with a pat on Curt’s head, leaving the knife in his shoulder. Even through the screen, Owen could see tears beginning to roll down his lover’s face. He had to do something. Quickly.

Luckily for Owen, the only lucky thing to have happened so far, Stave turned his back to the camera to meddle with the tools he had brought with him. As fast as he could, Owen forwarded the email to Barb, with the caption: “stave. he has curt. find him”. He just managed to send the email before Stave turned back to the camera. He had traded the knife for a wooden baseball bat and was lightly swinging it.

“Now, why don’t we get on to the first question,” Stave said casually, as if this was just a meeting over lunch. He swung the bat over his shoulder and smirked. “What locations of mine do they know.”


	2. f in chat for curt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its the second chapter fellas. hope you like it.

_ “Now, why don’t we get on to the first question,” Stave said casually, as if this was just a meeting over lunch. He swung the bat over his shoulder and smirked. “What locations of mine do they know.” _

Owen hesitated, every logical part of his brain screaming at him not to give any information up. Still, his emotions insisted that they couldn’t let Curt be hurt. Apparently, his indecisiveness went on too long for Stave’s liking.

“Not going to say anything?” he asked. “Such a shame. I really thought you cared more about him.” With that, Stave lifted the bat off his shoulder and slammed it into Curt’s shin. Curt cried out, and Owen surged forward in his chair. The hit had jarred the knife slightly loose, and more blood began to seep out of the wound, staining Curt’s shirt. The pain forced a few more tears out of Curt, and Stave shook his head.

“Now, now, let’s have none of that.” Stave wiped the tears from Curt’s face. With the knife in his shoulder and the ropes, Curt cringed but couldn’t pull far enough away. Once he was satisfied, Stave turned back to the camera.

“I’m going to ask again. What locations of mine do they know.” Stave’s voice was insistent. Owen knew he had to stall for time while Barb tracked the guy down. Well, at least high school theater classes paid off somehow. Owen took a shaky breath for show.

“Okay,” he said, voice hardly audible. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

Stave gave another one of his oily smiles. He leaned the baseball bat against his cart of tools. “Good, good. I’d hate to hurt Mr. Mega more than necessary. Now, tell me what they know.”

“They know about the warehouse in Brazil—” Stave would likely already know that, so it should have been safe. “—the safehouse in Toronto—” Owen was grasping at straws for what would be okay to say. Making a split second decision, he threw out a random place. “—and the base in Petersburg.” Stave’s smile didn’t drop, in fact growing wider, so Owen assumed he was safe.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Stave ran his hand through Curt’s hair, making the writer shudder. “You’ve really managed to score a cute little dove, Carvour. It’s such a shame that he’s only here on business.”

“Get your hands off—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Stave’s grip suddenly tightened on Curt’s hair, forcing Curt’s head up. The small gasp that escaped Curt hardly reached the microphone. “You wouldn’t want me to have to hurt him more just because you couldn’t keep your temper.”

“Owen—” Whatever Curt had wanted to say was cut off by the ding of a notification. Owen opened the email. It was Barb; they had found where Stave was keeping Curt. He held in a sigh of relief. Owen knew logically that he ought to stay on the stream to keep up the illusion, but his gut screamed at him to hop into a car and save Curt himself.

Stave noticed Owen’s silence. “Something else more important, Carvour?” Owen’s gaze refocused on the livestream. Stave had removed his hand from Curt’s hair, and the stain around the knife in Curt’s shoulder had grown.

“Don’t know what you mean,” Owen bluffed. Stave responded with a smirk.

“I think you do. Tell your friend Barbara that she ought to learn to be more covert with her hacking.” With that, the video cut off, leaving Owen staring at a blank screen.

“Fuck!” Owen slammed his fist onto his desk. He shot out of his desk chair, running down to the lab. He had to dodge a few lab techs, who weren’t happy with Owen’s interruption of their work, but he managed to not run into anyone. Almost falling, he turned the corner into Barb’s office.

“Did you see—”

“Yeah.” Barb was flitting around her work station. “We still have their location though, and there’s a team about to leave for there. If you hurry you can meet them down at the garage.” Before Barb finished her sentence, Owen was already turning to run downstairs, hooking a spare com into place.

\----------  
  


As soon as the light on the camera turned off, Curt knew things had gone down hill. The man, Stave, had an animalistic grin on his face. “Seems your husband’s little friend thought she could handle more than she could.” Stave gave a fake sigh. “Still, they’ve found where you are, so it looks like our time will be cut short.” Curt was tense, unsure of whether or not Stave meant to kill him.

“Well,” Stave said, leaning back confidently. “We might as well put the last bit of our time to good use.”

“W-what do you mean?” Curt asked instinctively. Stave smiled.

“Well, I may not be able to get any information out of you or your sweetheart, since he’s no longer watching, I might as well have some fun.” Curt was relieved for a moment when Stave didn’t grab anything off of his table, thinking the pain would be easier, but the first broken finger soon rid him of that idea.

\---------  
  


It took 20 minutes for the plane carrying the agents and Owen to arrive where Barb had tracked down Stave. Owen was the first out of the cabin, determined to find Curt. The building looked like your average log cabin, but on the inside, the lack of furniture gave it away. While the other agents spread out to check the ground floor, Owen and two other agents found the door leading to the basement. Once they got down the stairs, Owen made a beeline for Curt while the two agents cleared the room.

Stave had definitely done a number on Curt, who was passed out. There was the knife wound, which seemed the same as it had when the video turned off and the bruises, which looked like they would last a while. His leg would have to be looked at later, and his hands— Owen had to force himself not to yell when he saw Curt’s hands. Stave had broken both index, middle, and ring fingers but left the thumbs and pinkies untouched. Stave had to have known Curt was a writer, so that had to be intentional.

As Owen began untying Curt from the chair, Curt stirred awake and flinched away from Owen. He shook his head, muttering something Owen couldn’t quite catch under his breath.

“Hey, it’s me,” Owen soothed. “I’m here now, and we’re going to get you home.” Hearing Owen’s voice, Curt visibly relaxed, the tenseness leaving his body. Owen lifted Curt in a bride’s carry and brought him back to the plane. “Don’t worry,” he said under his breath. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Curt said with a smile. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there it was!! i might write a sequel but idk. also stave was much more,,,,,, flirty? than i intended him to be but i still love how i wrote him.


End file.
